


The Sun's Shadow

by SenjuMizusaya



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: BAMF Kuroko, Bets & Wagers, Character Development, Dubious Morality, Everyone Loves Kuroko Tetsuya, Everyone has a darker side, F/M, Female Kuroko Tetsuya, Fluff, Friendship, Genderswap, Kuroko's Harem, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Obsessive Behavior, Pining, Plot, Reverse Harem, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Slight Canon Divergence, Smut, Sports, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, kinda i guess, nothing major, so I'll be using some of that too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenjuMizusaya/pseuds/SenjuMizusaya
Summary: (Fem!Kuroko) Meeting the ambitious Kagami at Seirin certainly had its perks, but she wouldn't mind if some drama could be cut away. Especially the one revolving around her past teammates who simply do not know where the limits are. Instead of peace and basketball, there is an overwhelming amount of memories that needed to be awoken as well as lived through.(Their praises were sung and admiration was gifted in the amplest of amounts, all bleeding into the sweetest barbed wire that fed and twisted their minds with the nectar of victory. She watched her Generation of Miracles.)





	1. Crack of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Kuroko no Basuke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm officially a sucker for genderbender stories now.... Only Kuroko Tetsuya is gender swapped, everybody else is the same! Don't like, don't read, I'm just a fanfic writer which means that you might not find it entirely to your tastes or, on the contrary, something you actually like. Set in both Seirin and Teiko, though this chapter is most likely the least okay one since I'm getting used to writing this style as well as never having written a KnB fanfic before. Lastly, I'm aware that having a girl in a boy's team is practically unheard of, so I'll TRY to make it realistic. I'll even add the trouble with paper works and administration for the case. Enjoy^^  
> The only warning I have for this chapter is: School Start (should be a warning for awkwardness and slowness in itself).

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_Seirin, 2009_

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The morning air is pleasantly crisp, the spring breeze ruffling any loose hair and filtering through blooming canopies, carrying mild rain of soft sakura blossoms and fresh scents of dew with it. Voices chime through the schoolyard, a none too unpleasant cacophony of merriment and friends meeting again after the holidays. Tables and booths for recruiting clubs are set up along the broad walkway like old sugar cubes with ants crawling about, metal table legs and poles digging into the soft grass and dirt to undeniably leave smatterings of round trails when it is all over and packed away, like small moon craters littered across the previously lush grass.

Seirin is a new school, apparent in the way windows shine and reflect in the watery sunlight, never having known long-lasting contact of oily fingers returning year after year, the impeccably clean walls and the smooth lawns a lush green. There are no scraps of paper hastily thrown away and hidden underneath bushes, no dust riddling the corners. It's clean. Fresh. Unmarred. 

And that fits Kuroko Takase perfectly. She's here on a clean slate, a fresh student, and is ready for a brand new start. 

Pale azure strands barely skim her shoulders, flat-blue eyes firmly planted in her book. The material of her secondhand uniform shows signs of fading, though luckily the skirt is an off-white which doesn't show previous use, just as the blazer is an unremarkable tan-gray that, at most, has been washed once too much into something slightly fuller and paler. No, it's only the green trimmings and mossy ribbon that aren't as vibrant as the others'. She doesn't particularly care much, though she'd prefer if nobody noticed. It'd be better that way. Not that people notice her in general, and while there had been a time where it had been off putting, now it was almost comfortable in it's own queer way. She prefers it this way. (Prefers not feeling eyes on her back.)

Not looking up from her book, only blowing away stray strands from her side swept bangs, she delves into the elbowing mass of students scurrying to and fro. Subconsciously, some drift out of her path at if the deepest recesses of their minds register her presence, but nobody takes actual notice. She isn't bothered by it. It means she can mind her own business undisturbed. 

The bookmark she uses is a small folded map of the the campus that is now occupied by the clubs, crude squares drawn onto it with clusters of kanji scribbled into the harsh boxes. Dance. Skating. Cooking. And there, snugly nestled between the running club and booth for knitting, is basketball. A squiggle on her paper that almost makes her smile. Almost. Resolutely the paper is neatly folded back and the book shut with a dry _clap_. 

Takase spots the table a few minutes later, a speck momentarily visible between the backpacks and uniform-clad shoulders. There is a moment of rush and relieved joy, sparked inside like a cheerful match. Then the sight is gone again, obscured by milling students that fail to notice her and occasionally bump shoulders without sparing her a second glance. The book is slipped into the messenger bag, the movement clumsy because of a passing girl crashing into her and veering away not even a second later, the browns of her narrowed eyes seeking the culprit, passing over her, emptily seeing but at the same time not quite registering. The girl disappears back into the crowd with a flick of auburn tresses, and the bluenette ambles on without further hindrances. 

When she reaches the table a small crowd has already been amassed by the prospect of playing basketball. Two students sit on one side, one a pretty brunette girl donning a navy cardigan over her uniform, the maroons of eyes glittering, and the other a taller bespectacled boy with a mop of black hair. On the other side of the flimsy plastic a tall young man who clearly dwarfed the others, his messy tresses a deep magenta that almost bordered a violent red, stood. He holds a second-year boy by the back of his shirt. By default, and _almost_ completely professionally, she deduces and most certainly  _sees_ that he doesn't lack in either height nor muscle. Clearly a basketball player. Strong arms and shoulders, legs meant for the climaxes of running both sprint and standing still to await the next move. The others have a similar build too, though not as tall nor as burly. Though burly couldn't describe him either. 

She stops next to them, watching as a paper was slid towards the slightly tanned young man, who lets go of his sheepish hostage. As he reads it through, gleaming apple-red eyes slanting as they skim the text, she nimbly takes one for herself, searching for the girls' team. _Registration form... Boys' team... Seirin High... Applying means agreeing to the five-days a week training program of twelve hours per week... Signature... Aims to go to... Reasons and motivation..._

There is no girls' team. 

The realization splashes her insides with something not quite unpleasant, but still too startling and uncomfortable to sit completely well (not that she had decided to settle for that in the long run, but perhaps she'd been able to work herself up? Now she'll have to cut straight to the point.) She has played with boys before. In fact, that is the very reason she has cut off contact with Teiko's team and gone straight here. ( _Five forms soak up the awestruck cheers like venomous sponges, lights are blinding and Takase wonders.)_

Kuroko Takase signs her name anyway, a neat and everyday jutting of words. 

Pale fingers tuck her old ballpoint pen back into the pocket of her ashen jacket, the only article of clothing new and expensive-looking, and the paper is carefully positioned atop the short pile. As she turns around, adjusting the strap of her weathered messenger bag and carefully tugging away the strands caught underneath the dark strip, the other boy she is distantly aware of the muscular teen walking away as well, heading the opposite direction. No matter if he seems physically fit for the sport on a high level, she has no interest of interacting with him.

Then she relies on instinct to find the calmest, safest and most pleasant spot on school. Ideally underneath a verdant tree behind a peaceful corner, surrounded by vibrant flowers and and mellow sunshine caressing nature in a golden glow of life, where the happy chatter would be an enjoyable background buzz. However, a drab corner in a spartan room next to the baseball storage would also do. 

In the end she manages to find a nice spot hidden between two thickly rooted bushes grown in large square flower boxes seemingly straight from a vintage home. 

It brings back old memories, sitting there with smudges from the half-broken pen on her finger tips. She really ought to throw it away, but so far she still has use for it. The gray bag is deposited next to her, filled with two cheap notebooks, a threadbare pencil case that she's too sentimental to throw away, a small wallet only containing the barest amount of cash and a credit card hiding a photo she both hates and loves, the book with practical bookmark and a small mobile phone. Some say that it's the content of a bag reflecting one's personality.

Takase doesn't know what to think of that. 

Takase _does_ know that she's thinking about basketball, however. How much she's actually changes since then, how much she's learned about ambitions and talent. How much there is to think of.

Lips quirk faintly. 

Downwards. 

 

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_Teiko, 2006_

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The sky was a canvas of icy blues without a single cloud to be spotted, a morning one couldn't believe was in spring. At the gates, two large stone pillars excellently carved, there stood a scrawny girl of thirteen winters. Arctic blue hair had been cropped short to brush against her chin in feathery tufts, the dark lapis of her eyes fastened on the note in her hand. A promise to Ogiwara Shigehiro. A vow and a goal that had to be reached. 

She smiled, a curve to her pale pink lips that was as small is it was genuine. Feet move, worn leather shoes carrying her forth. 

Inside the school, pupils were milling about like insects, walking around the simple tables and the bullheadedly recruiting students. There were duos and trios of friends discussing what to choose, arguments ranging from the tones of vehement and vexed to realms of upbeat and teasing. The recruiters themselves attempted to rope the tallest and most muscular into joining their sport, reminiscent of vultures circling the juiciest prey. Cliques of girls trotted around, some giggling in front a blond boy who, despite his easygoing, quasi-humble words and gentle semi-rejections, seemed to bask in their attention and offered them just the right amount back. There was even a fistfight poorly hidden behind the crude tent set up to protect the art club's drying paintings from the drizzle of pink petals. She passed a cooking club tempting a pair of twins with fresh muffins that came with the recruitment papers, went blissfully unseen by a literary group energetically attempting (and failing) to persuade an other passing student into joining, and was thankful of her lack of presence when two girls shrieked about fashion. 

At some point, as she steered through the crowd of busybodies, she accidentally tripped up a passing girl, which resulted in the nameless brunette flashing the instantly jeeringly grinning boys who had walked behind her. The second and last mishap happened a few minutes later, when she harshly bumped shoulders with cobalt-eyed boy. His tresses, a combination of midnight and tanzanite, fluttered around his tanned face when he glanced over his shoulder and blurted an apology. Hastily returning one herself, she wasn't surprised when his dark eyes emptily skimmed over the surrounding young teenagers, thankfully without even lingering on her frost-blue head disappearing among the sea of students. Takase didn't mind. It was easier to continue on without further hindrances, such things didn't hurt anybody. There were moments when she'd wish for more attention, especially when it came to teachers forgetting to give her important handouts, but in the end she quite liked choosing herself whom she interacted with. 

Signing up for the girls' team went relatively smoothly. Niftily snagging a creamy paper from the stack -nobody saw, nobody noticed- the young teenager fished around in an outer pocket of her messenger bag for the brand new ballpoint pen, found it underneath a packet of tissues she would never use, and swiftly scribbled down her name. Her handwriting was rather ordinary, if not a little small, with neat lines and no shortcuts for a single sign. Behind her there was a slight commotion, caused by somebody crashing into the papers of the calligraphy club and scattering all their art like unfortunate leafs in the wind. The phantom shadow didn't turn around to investigate and mingle, opting to finally place her signed paper on top of the growing pile. 

Done with what little she had planned for this morning, Takase wasted no time to find her classroom. Normally she'd start out by finding the calmest location on the school grounds and claiming it for herself, preferably somewhere far away from a bin or a generally unpleasant place, but the bell was about to ring and she had, after pausing momentarily between a tree and the large double doors, decided to avoid the worst rush of clattering students cramming into the hallways. 

As it turned out, students weren't allowed to be in the corridors at all before the bell rung -lockers downstairs on ground level, classrooms on all three floors above to reduce commotion- but for the frost-haired girl that wasn't a problem. She simply passed the few oblivious teachers already walking towards their class, her nose stuck in the book though her eyes could only stare at the letter of the note she used as bookmark. A step closer to fulfilling her promise. A step closer to her dream. 

A step closer to true joy.

( _Tired eyes meet her daughter's, worn and frazzled, and the mother speaks; "Takase-chan, the ultimate joy does not always come from accomplishing a challenging dream, it's not about competition. Don't you think it's time to move on from basketball?" And the young adolescent only flatly stares back, doesn't even shrug, and disappears out of the heavy room with a wordless rejection of the proposal._ )

A step closer to what is important. A step closer to being _everythinghappyneededjoyous_. 

.

The bell was a monotonous thing, akin to a medieval horn being blown in to announce an important arrival, only less thrilling and endlessly more refined. Apparently the odd sound was only produced because it was broken, however, so Takase knew she wouldn't have to put up with it for too much longer. At least it allowed her and the others a good excuse for shoulders sagging with supposed annoyance instead of relief that the lesson was over.

She had a stack of homework back home on her desk after only five days of school, which would be added upon even more once she'd come home with today's papers, but none of those factors could even begin to dampen the flame of hope inside, lit by a match and burning on a single candle that she knew would roar into a full blown hearth were she to get a good place on the team. 

For every step she took the corner of one of her books dug painfully into the bone of her hip through the material of her bag, and she threaded her fingers through her tresses as a makeshift comb, pulled the loose hair tie from her wrist and maneuvered the locks up into a high ponytail even though she was bounding down the packed staircase. It most likely wasn't her best ponytail, her left-styled bangs tickled her temples and eyebrows as the shorter strands were more than smug to abruptly hop away from the gray band, and there were most likely a whole valley of bumps leading to the loose tail, but it would have to do. It wasn't like the girls in the changing room compared ponytails. What they would occasionally compare was who had the best-smelling deodorant or which shop was best for buying the softest underwear. 

That time the topic was shirts making you look attractive. Takase didn't care much for it, and even if she did, she'd have nothing to contribute with unless she wanted to start talking about blouses with nipped waists and the likes (which she did not find interesting, mind you). In an unsurprisingly (and blissfully) unnoticed silence she shrugged the uniform off and slipped on the haphazard assortment of sport clothes she had assembled. Prone to watching and observing as she was, she had already noticed that the changing room seemed to be split in half. The half furthest from the door consisted of those girls who weren't as likely to participate in a lively conversation no matter the topic being pineapples or the best tampons (and, indicatively, also habitually angled themselves to not show their fellow girls their skin), while the other half babbled on without pants on or compared which bra looked the prettiest (and they, of course, had no qualms against holding whole debates in only their underwear). Takase was mildly grateful she belonged to neither category. She wasn't ashamed in any sense, but she did not talk either. 

Then she headed to practice, slipping out of the door and into the court like a phantom shadow. Subconsciously registered at most, a hair's breadth from invisible. Just how she liked it.

.

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_Seirin, 2009_

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Takase isn't surprised when she ends up being the only girl on the team, silently standing beside a fellow first-year who doesn't seem focused enough. She really shouldn't judge, though, because all she has to compare with are  eyes fastened only on victory and personal triumph or glory. ( _Gold, navy, scarlet, violet, emerald- there is light but at the same time it's coldcoldcold_.) (Maybe she's not fair, it wasn't always like that. Not always.)

The team captain seems reliable, however, though that is only Takase's first impression. Bespectacled and with short hair, relatively tall though not startlingly so. She recognizes him as the one at the plastic table. The cute brunette is there too; most likely a manager like Momoi Sastuki had been, she guesses silently after a moment of casual scrutiny. 

"Hello everyone!" She greets with a sweet smile, tucking her clipboard under one arm as she regards them with sharp brown eyes. "I'm the basketball club's coach, Aida Riko." 

The startling words slap her like slimy fish tails, dark lashes flutter as she blinks a single time. The others are more vocal, seemingly holding a concert of surprised sounds. Not only was she very young, a second year only, but it wasn't common for a girl to coach boys at all. Takase feels a twinge of respect, the noncommittal type, and studies her fellow girl more closely. Practical short hair, merry gazes that thinly veil steel, rather wide hips and athletic legs though noticeably flat. Easy on the eyes, for sure, but that is not what the bluenette focuses on. Surely, to have been appointed as coach, she is remarkable in one way or another. (This time, Takase is certain she didn't think that because of her past team and discarded mentality.)

The next command hits the males like a sucker punch while Takase's stare darts around and pale blue eyebrows furrow with confusion, hands fisting the once-gray material of her white shirt. "Take your shirts off!" 

It takes two strict glowers as well as a placating explanation from the captain -"Her father was a coach and she used to accompany him to the sessions. She's picked up a thing or two. She reads your body like files of your abilities"- before everybody is neatly lined up like toy soldiers before the inspecting child. Takase pays no mind to the occasional comments fired from the focused coach, her fingers tightening as she lifts her shirt and slips it over her head. The wide-strapped sports bra could be considered a tight, cropped shirt, as it doesn't show much of anything except for general outlines and the planes of her off-pale stomach. 

As expected, nobody knows she's here. She doesn't mind. Not really. 

The lacquered polished floor shines as a testimony of its short history, the sun's rays warmer and stronger now that the day has dragged on, and she almost imagines hearing the sentimental echoes of nasally slipping sounds of shoes against a floor and the rough, drumming baseline of a brown ball against the ground. It's sweet, in its own lame little way. 

The coach stops in front of the tall redhead next to her, whom Takase instantly links back to the muscular boy who had signed up at the same time as her. She doesn't blame the brunette, whose baffled stare and slack jaw betray awe and disbelief, for during her years as a basketball player the phantom shadow had seen only a few as physically fit. A lurking idea squirms, an undercurrent rippling the lake of her mind, and she resolves to see if she can build on it. If this Kagami Taiga is good enough to show her past team that they aren't superior when it comes to skill and talent, she'd show them how wrong their ways were (how wrong even she has been, how wrong she'd been for so long .)

"Well, that seems to be everybody," Aida hums distractedly after a moment, swiftly turning on her heel with quizzically furrowed brows. Her cinnamon eyes quickly drag across them all again, Takase almost smiling dryly when realizing she has once again gone unnoticed, the coach shaking her chocolate head. "I could've sworn I would've been able to pick Kuroko-kun out from the batch. Everyone, shirts back on!" 

For a moment, dull blues sharpen at the sound of her name, drawn back to the coach who had turned to the captain and an other second year with silky black hair and silver eyes. The ashen shirt is quickly slipped back on. The bespectacled leader shrugs, not quite disappointed and not too surprised either; "Don't think he showed up." 

"Excuse me," says the blue haired girl, taking a step forth to stand directly in front of Aida. Something inside her uncoils with faint amusement when brown eyes widen and the breath is caught, the other girl taking a moment to recover from the shock of a blue-haired girl seemingly popping up out of nowhere before letting out a long, piercing shriek of surprise. 

"Where'd you come from!?" She exclaims , words familiar enough to relax some of the tightly corded muscles of Takase's slightly tense shoulders. Murmurs arise and die down in the background, fluctuating like waves. 

"I've been here all along," she replies by default, calm, serious, dark eyes holding just a swath of merriment. "I'm Kuroko Takase." 

Aida takes another struggling breath as her eyes sharpen and quickly scans the other girl, a movement not gone unseen by her, and finally breathes a jumbled rush of words originating from a momentarily shaken mind; "You're a girl. There's no girls team, sorry, but if you're good enough- if you're good enough at basketball that maybe- if you want to play in a boys' team... You played in Teiko as a regular, or?" 

"I played in the matches," Takase assures slowly, causing a spike in the buzz followed by pregnant silence, and then continues with a multitude of eyes on her back; "It's really no problem for me to be on this team, if you want me that is. I played in Teiko with the guys. On their team." 

Reactions come not even a second later, sudden and varying like fireworks, none too loud but all easy to distinguish when they reach her. She doesn't react, despite a slight churning in her stomach accompanied by a pleasant flutter at the prospect of playing in a team. There's not much reason to react. It needs to be said, so she said it, because honesty is the best option. 

"Holy shit, doesn't that mean she played along the Generation of Miracles-" 

"You gotta pull a lot of strings to get on a guy team if there's an alternative for girls-" 

"She's kinda hot-" 

"Is this for real-"

Though the most striking one is definitely Kagami's gruff; "What is the Generation of Miracles?" 

Takase tunes them out as she expectantly awaits Aida's answer with saintlike patience acquired through hard work. The coach has composed herself by now, though her narrowed eyes aren't quite as calculating and sharp as before, and gives her a long stare both glittering and daring. "If you're good enough the next practice, consider it done." 

Kuroko Takase has no intention of failing that challenge. 

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_Teiko, 2006_

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"There are three strings for basketball here in Teiko, the first one being the best one, participating in official competitions," announced the instructor from atop a small scene, a multitude of stares fastened on her. Takase brushed stray strands that had escaped her drooping ponytail away from her face, both jittery nervousness and eagerness tingling her insides. Discluding herself, there were at least an additional thirty girls, not only first years but also seconds and thirds, which meant that for each team of five that were allowed in competitions there were enough additional ones to fill the seven spots on the benches. Complete teams of twelve. 

She swallowed thickly when names were called out for the third string, the syllables ominously rolling through the room, and closed her eyes as she slowly breathed in through her nose to calm down, holding the breath for two seconds, and then slowly exhaled. The pressure was eased. She was fine. She'd make it to the second string, or perhaps even the first one even though that was extremely rare for the first year at Teiko. 

Then her name was called. Taunting and echoing in her mind. Designating. Third string. Tearing inconvenient cracks into her promise. (" _We'll see who's best in basketball, some time. Get into the top team and maybe we can play a practice match," he grins cheerfully, all teeth and joy_.) She knew Shigehiro would've preferred that they meet in an official game in the Nationals, but that couldn't happen since she was a girl, so he had settled for the second best option and _she couldn't even meet that_. This wasn't happening. Not happening _nothappeningnothappening_. But it was. She hadn't been good enough, hadn't been worthy. It stung. Red-glowing needles in her heart, pricking like syringes and shards of glass, the lake in her head rippled.

She sighed slowly, shoulders sagging, and doused her glowing nerves. 

Her steps towards the walking back heading towards a different court were tentative at first, not uncertain or insecure but rather disappointed and shell shocked. (Not good enough.) (Then get better.) 

In the background she heard the second string being announced; apparently no first year got into the first one. She wasn't surprised, almost numb enough to not be able to be startled. She just needed to train. Get better. Eventually make it up to higher strings. She had to. 

Takase closed her eyes one last time, creases smoothening and turbulence inside subsiding. Then they shot open, steadfast. There was no choice, really; at least no real one. Either she accepted and consequently gave up, or she'd strive to improve. With that in mind, she purposely bumped her shoulder _accidentally_  against one of the talkative ones -a svelte girl with fake-bushy black hair and onyxes for eyes- to alert them of her presence. 

There was a shriek from one side and a mumbled apology from the bluenette's, an offered smile when the familiar words "where'd you come from?" met her head on. 

"I was here all along," the phantom girl replied amicably, but had decided that she wouldn't want to stay in the third string for very long. She nodded along when the outgoing girl introduced herself as Hayakawa Hana, kept nodding along when the raven rambled, and nodded to herself when she saw the court. Well kept, polished, clean, illuminated by the large windows stretching across the top of the back and left wall, with hoops securely fastened and lines drawn onto the wooden ground. 

Kuroko Takase didn't stay out of any match or practice. Kuroko Takase didn't improve much during any. (Not good enough.) (Then get better.)

Basketballs hit the ground during practice, a wild heartbeat matching her own, the electric impulses from the nervous system in the form of skidding shoes and quick steps. She'd get better. Even if it meant staying later every evening to practice. She'd train and find herself a spot.

Takase wouldn't allow herself an other option.


	2. Sun Between the Treetops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everybody!

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_Seirin, 2009_

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The sound of a basketball hitting the asphalt after its descent through the basket hangs hoveringly in the air, followed by two dry bounces before it's caught by large hands and dribbled back with a casual jog, meeting the ground and bounding up again in a steady rhythm controlled by large palms. Caramel hands finally enclose, grip steady and rise to take aim, carmine eyes narrowing and then, just as the hurl is almost finished, widen when a dark outline can be seen next to the goal's pole, just barely illuminated by the nearby streetlights. 

Takase meets his startled gaze coolly, then follows the sail of the ball as it cleaves through the air. It lacks the control and ease the previous dunks and long throws had possessed, though she supposes it's justified. She has a bad habit of scaring people by seemingly materializing from thin air. It bounces of the metal ring, the net shuddering, and with practiced hands she catches it. 

"Hi again," she says, not smiling but far from unfriendly. Kagami's openly startled expression and posture take on an aggravated and no-nonsense gruffness, almost bristling, though there is no hostility. 

"What the hell are you doing here? Popping up from nowhere like that," he asks instantly, almost chastising, lips thinning and dark brows knitting inquisitively. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" She answers curiously, throwing the ball back and watching the arch, in all its simple grace, deliver it to awaiting hands. 

Bright eyes avert, angular face tilting to the side, and the bluenette studies him when he replies; "Nothing. Not doing anything, really." 

She hums acceptingly, corners of her lips quirking into a small smile of amicableness. She decides there is something peculiarly honest about him -even if it is a frank and almost brutal type- and despite the upfront and candid attitude there is a buzzing energy and goodnatured passion behind his grins (that he is currently definitely not wearing). "You've played basket for long?"

"Huh, yeah, since I was little," he allows, ball secured in between his right arm and hip as the left hand wipes his short bangs away from his moist forehead, the slightest sheen of perspiration visible in the artificial light. There is a pause, then he cracks with a vexed tilt to his lips; "When I came back from America, I was appalled by the low standards here. I don't just want to play for fun, I want to be in a serious match that really gets me going. And you, who played as a regular with the Generation of Miracles, have nothing at all to even hint at strength. No scent, no aura, no nothing. So show me, show me what they were like."

Takase finds herself momentarily looking at him while a whirlwind of potential answers whirrs sarcastically in her head, flashes of _smirks and victory and hands and voices and basket and teamteamteam_ spinning leisurely inside. Kagami's red eyes are ignited, bright against the dark skies like scarlet embers, challenging, determined grin tugging at the left corner of his mouth. 

"That can be arranged. I've wanted to go up against you, too," she doesn't hesitate, even though one-on-one her weakest points, and takes a step forth while she slips off her sailor-collar shirt of to expose a simple button-up with the two top buttons undone to allow space for proper breathing. Vaguely, Kagami seems surprised, as if he hadn't thought a girl like Takase, all lithe muscle upon bone covered only by a thin sheet of pale skin over, could be considered curvaceous as well. She doesn't dignify a reaction to the split-second flickering of his eyes to the ample swell of her bust. 

She throws the shirt away onto the worn bench to her right, the article fluttering down into a rumpled mess of smoky tan. Curiosity shimmers in her mind, accompanied by the lurking idea, and levelheadedly meets the intense gaze. Predictably, his eyes narrow back into professional focus, knees and back bending ever so slightly for instant reaction. The basketball is dribbled once, twice, thrice all the while he stays in the same spot, figuring her out and preparing. Takase readies herself, toned legs wider apart and arms drawn up closer to her body to be close to all directions they might need to shoot out to.

The only warning she gets is a split-second of prominent muscles tensing, and then it starts. (There is a heartbeat.) 

He's fast, dribbling and avoiding the bluenette's awkward and futile attempts to stop him from advancing. Feet dance around her, the ball drumming the beat, and she turns around just in time to swivel back in front of him so that he needs to change direction -a quick turn and feint of the simplest kind- before managing an easily harvested score. 

When the roles are later reversed, with Takase as offense, results do not change in the slightest. At one point Kagami drops the ball with an embarrassed squeak when her skirt hikes up too much because of a jump; clearly, unlike the some Generation of Miracles, he is gentlemanly enough to remind her that flashing opponents was not correct. After that, the game continues. The one time she actually managed to get to the goal it was ridiculously easy for the tall male to swat it off course, and the bluenette scurries after the rolling ball of dark orange. Slender hands close around it and then she's on her way back, the basketball cradled like a toddler would hold its favorite toy. 

"You've got to be kidding me," Kagami sounds as confused as aggravated, as if somebody decided to throw salt into a wound, stepping forth to loom angrily just in front of her, a split eyebrow twitching with frustration and a muscle in his jaw clenched. "How the hell could you overestimate your abilities to think that you'd beat me with that?"

Takase's features, still a blank sheet, meet the tiger's irritation on, soothing water facing flames. "Of course you're better than me, I knew that from the start. I just wanted to see how good you were for myself."

She holds the ball out for him to take, but he shakes his head as broad shoulders sag with a sigh, mildly exasperated and weary though no longer angered. "That's enough, I'm not interested in the weak."

Her fingers trace the smooth, black lines laced around the ball. At some point, almost any point up until her last months of Teiko, such words would've sent the thoughts 'not good enough, get better, have to be the best, victorious' spinning into her mind like shuriken, a silent mantra of stubbornness that were as fixed as unhealthily poisonous. Not now. Not anymore. Not since she broke free. 

"Hm," blue eyes dart in his direction while she turns to retrieve her blazer, expression unchanged and without any berating or hurt qualities. There is a moment of silence, the redhead watching the fellow teenager with a conflicted expression before finally vocalizing his thoughts with bluntness; "You should quit basketball. Whatever that was isn't good enough, you can't cover it with nice words like  _effort_ when raw talent is a fact of life. You don't have that talent, not a speck of it."

"I don't accept that," she throws back, voice firm like a cliff in a turbulent sea, the last syllable muffled as she slips into her dull sweater. Pale skin, silky hair spun of aquamarine and eyes of dark sapphires peek out again as she adjusts the collar, smoothing the material out where it has bunched above her generous bust. There is just the slightest hint of steel when she thinks that _yes, Kagami Taiga has talent,_ which solidifies the idea into a skeletal form (and, more than that, there was a warmth about his fire, _something_ that made her want to trust despite his brashness). "First of all, I love basketball and thus I have no intention of stopping even though my only option is a team composed of guys. Secondly, I don't think talent is most important. I don't care about who's supposedly strong and who is considered weak. I'm not like that. I'm a shadow." 

.

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_Teiko, 2006_

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.

Takase's school uniform had been neatly folded on the bench of the changing room, the young teenager pulling on a pair of loose shorts that must've been blue at some point but now simply looked a washed-out slate paired with a faded ashen shirt. Frosty hair had been secured in a neat ponytail, bangs gathered to the left and secured with a silvery clip. Basketball shoes, plain white and gray, barely caused audible friction. A ghost. Shadow of a phantom. 

And then, there was an eye catching orange sphere dribbled and the drum of its thumping beat.

Outside, through the large windows of thick glass that must've endured at least one playful and wayward basketball, the sky had darkened into a dark blue that morphed into a deep indigo rimmed with salmon pink at the urban-shaped horizon. 

Two weeks of practice had done little good when it came to skill, though both measly muscles and laughable endurance had grown from something admittedly underdeveloped to something more acceptable. (Not good enough.) And to top it off, her ranking in the girls' team had fallen even further. She simply couldn't score, was unable to actually even get one shot in. ( _One_ , she'd pray during practices, _only one, please_ -) Behind a slight pout, teeth gritted together. 

She caught the ball as it bounced of the rim again, far from giving up. The sounds of a dribbling ball and squeaking footsteps were faint in the air, hovering but not completely pathetic. She knew it was better to dribble harder and faster, but she'd work towards it; she wasn't there quite yet. She skidded to a halt and caught the ball again, arms lifting and fingers pushing against the rough surface; the ball sailed through the air, and then rebounded. Again. 

The basketball rolled across the ground, and Takase almost thought it looked dejected. It bordered on getting ridiculous and she knew it, but giving up meant breaking her promise to Ogiwara as well as her own resolve and love for basketball. That wasn't an option. Besides, Teiko's motto was victorious, so wouldn't her own victory be to overcome her initial struggle? 

A creaking sound echoed through the room, and she turned around while pressing the orange basketball to the developing swell of her chest. Walking into the -not counting the two of them- abandoned court was a tanned boy with hair a truce between dark navy and royal cobalt, oceanic eyes drifting across the room and obliviously passing over her as she stood under the net. Vaguely she recognized him as someone she had bumped into -though by now she had lost count, but he had been the one to talk about basketball, hadn't he?- and then a lightbulb went off in her head. He was one of those four who were instantly drafted into the first string despite being first years. 

"Hello," Takase greeted without flinching, watching as his vivid pools instantly snapped back to her. He looked like he had been slapped with dead fish, shoulders tensing up as a breath was violently caught in his throat, eyes widening and within a second he had thrown himself down to the floor with arms protectively wrapped around himself; 

" _Ohfuckfuckfuck-don'tkillmeplease-ghostsdon'tkill-sodon'tkillme-nonononono_ -" he screeched with an impressive display of vocal capacities, voice cracking at the end as he clamped his mouth and eyes firmly shut, waiting for a killing blow. 

"Aomine... Daiki-kun?" She guessed slowly, carefully placing the orange ball back to the ground as if it would break, the flat blues of her own eyes not daring to leave the taller boy's shivering form curled up in front of her. "I'm not a ghost." _But I could still kill you if you want to_ , she wanted to add as a dry joke, although she was certain it wouldn't come across well. His undivided attention was dragged back up to her as if by fishing hooks, and it took him a few moments to realize that what he had seen as a misty blob was in fact a frost-haired girl with big eyes and a skin-parlor almost so pale it bordered albino. She met his stare head on with a callous bluntness Takase was aware how rarely it was seen among girls. Aomine had just recently come to realize girls could be very attractive, and despite the fact that the bluenette peering at him with dull curiosity lacked enough presence to barely be there at all, belatedly he realized that she could be considered pretty, too. 

"Huh?" He breathed, jumping back up to his feet and standing little more than half a head taller. "You're not a ghost."

"Yes," Takase agreed with a pleasant nod. "You screamed loud enough to kill me and make me one, though." 

"Ah," he started, lips cracking into a merry smile and the beginning of laughter bubbling, but then realized he had no idea whether she was joking or not with that deadpan expression of hers. "Wha- how do you know who I am? And who are _you_?" 

"I'm Kuroko Takase," the almost-invisible girl informed him with a polite bow. "Almost everybody in Teiko's basketball club knows the names of those in the first string." That, and her semi-friend Hayakawa Hana of the Bushy Hair and Bright Smiles (who had quit because of the harsh regime and only joined because her brother had applied in a different school) seemed to be irreversibly in love with Aomine, but from what she had seen of him so far she didn't think he needed many more shocks. (On a second note, she realized that _famous_   _first string_ could only be applied for the males; not many cared about the girls.)

"You practice here often?" Aomine asked with an upbeat quirk of his lips, walking towards her and picking up the basketball at her feet. Rising up again, she had to tilt her head slightly to meet his twinkling gaze. 

"Yeah," she admitted, wondering how good the first-stringer was if he had been instantly roped into being a starter. "Almost every evening." 

"Oh, so that's why rumors about a ghost being here started spreading!" He chuckled and pressed the ball back into her hands. The movements felt reassuring, even if he had no idea just how bad she was at actually playing basketball. "And you're in the, eh, second string? Third? ...First?" 

He scratched the back of his head, bronzed pads of his fingers mussing up the dark blue tresses, his grin apologetic for his lack of knowledge and flashing pearly white teeth. Takase smiled, even if barely, but her insides felt lighter than they had done in days; a neglecting family, mediocre grades and absolute lack of skill in the one sport she cared about most had weighed down on her shoulders. And this bumbling stranger, first-stringer Aomine who she had all right to be envious of, had _something_ about him. The apparently-a-rumored-ghost felt no shame when uttering; "I'm in the third." 

There was no difference in the way he looked at her as he accepted the words as if they were nothing important. That action felt like a foundation being settled deep inside, unexplainable, despite Aomine stealing her practice time and blissful silence. A candle of light in a place so drab. "You must be pretty good, then, if you practice this hard! Even in my own team they don't train to improve as much as you seem to do." 

Takase cracked a small grin at that, eyes crinkling ever so slightly, and told him; "I suck." 

"Of course not!" He instantly protested; the bluenette was certain it had been a deny-girl's-insecurity-talk-by-default answer. She threw the ball back at him and met his assured stare. 

"Okay, let's play a game, then. First to five, both of us will do our absolute best," she decided with a careless shrug, taking on a defensive position between his watchful, more impressive frame and the basket. His eyes gleamed at the prospect of playing. 

"Yeah, sure!" 

It took Takase two tries before stumbling and letting him score his first goal. 

It took Takase two more goals before realizing he was barely serious. 

It took Takase the three last goals before convincing Aomine that scoring or defending really, really, _really_  weren't her fortes. 

"Oh, okay, I guess... maybe you strength is, uh..." He shrugged and trailed off as if he hadn't started the jumbled sentence to begin with, barely out of breath as he dribbled the ball on spot. She wiped her forehead to rid herself of the unattractive sheen of perspiration. Her back felt horribly sweaty too; then again, she _had_ been practicing for over an hour until he came. Then, his eyes widened and he looked scandalized. "Are _all_ girls this... bad?" 

Takase almost laughed at his horrified bluntness, weren't it for her own sagging shoulders and bruised pride. "No. Just me." She wasn't self-conscious about it, nor did she feel whatever shrinking, ugly embarrassment that Hana had told her reared its head whenever the raven would miss a shot. But it didn't feel good. It felt churning, the coach's words to _get better, be triumphant, overcome_ whispering in the back of her head. 

"I'll practice with you," Aomine suddenly exclaimed, face brightening as if he had just solved all of Einstein's maths. She gave him a flat stare, though amicable hope flickered. "It'll be fun, I promise!" 

"I never said it _wouldn't_ be," she pointed out, and he laughed, a free and loud sound the suited him perfectly. She passed him the ball, one of the few things she didn't fail at when it came to basketball, and smiled back. 

.

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_Seirin, 2009_

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The rain is pouring down, frigid showers cascading from the sky like melting remnants of a winter rampage. Inside the court, however, it is warm and light. Loose vests are being distributed, the second years receiving the blue ones and the first years the ugly yellow ones (which Takase is certain had been chosen by the captain, who she was willing to bet refused to clothe himself in that yellow abomination). Finishing tying the worn laces of her trusted basketball shoes -white with a pale blue stripe- she stood up and rolled her shoulders. 

"What, a mini-game? Can't believe we'e playing against our senpai already," Kawahara looks both excited and intimidated at the prospect, throwing a glance at the trio of raven-haired students crowded a few steps away, and then to Tsuchida and Koganei who are talking with Aida. 

"They went to the finals in their first year, didn't they?" Furihata muses, to which the last third-year to have been accepted into consideration of joining the club, Fukuda, agrees that it is not normal. It reminds Takase that not only was she now the youngest again, but victory was no longer a given. 

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Kagami speaks up, evaluating his opponents with a light in his eyes and a sharp tilt to his lips. "It's always better to have stronger opponents than weaker ones. Let's go." 

It takes Takase a few moments to realize that none of her teammates, nor opponents though that is more of a given, know she's here. Oh. _Oh_ , right. She shakes her head, misty ponytail swishing, and takes on a position good for observation. The ball is thrown up by Aida, who is refereeing, and the game starts. Her rookie team gets possession first, and over a sea of intercepting hands it's passed to Kagami in a powerful arc. She barely has time to run and get closer for a better glimpse of his style before he jumps and dunks it in, his play unpolished and brimming with something raw and passionate. 

The ball continues zigzagging across the court, whistle singing for each shot and dunk, until the first years have scored themselves up to 11-8 in their favor. She can't put her finger on when exactly it happens, but it's as if Seirin's regulars have been splashed with the icy rain outside because suddenly they _run and run and play_ like there's no tomorrow. It's 15-34 in the upperclassmen's favor in almost no time at all, showing their teamwork in its splendid, oiled machinery that reminds Takase of cogwheels working together for the same goal. United; they were such a team that it made her fingers tingle. 

With the whistle blown, a cutting sound, a break was called. She steers towards her teammates just in time to see Kagami lifting up one of them, his knuckles turning white and teeth bared in an animalistic snarl. Someone couldn't handle defeatist thoughts and sentences, it seemed. She stops behind him, vision obscured by his muscular back and broad shoulders. She bends through her knees, jutting them against the redhead's knees, abruptly taking him down a peg in more than one way. His eyebrows knit together even further, whipping around. 

"Please refrain from taking your anger out physically or by screaming," she requests, bland, staring at the simmering rage with a blank look. A vein protrudes at his temple, white teeth gritting together as an eye twitched. Takase doesn't blink. 

Aida starts the game again, and Kagami turns on his heel with a pouty mutter. The brunette turns to the startled Kawahara -who seemed to be the one least affected by her unannounced appearance- and with a mild look she requests: "Could you pass me the ball some time? Thank you."

And with that, in addition to a smile she knew for a fact was at least a little bit cute, she turned on her heel and disappeared among the players getting ready. Despite not knowing her teammates well, there seems to be more warmth, or at least an openness that embraces her in its welcome change. Her basketball shoes aren't weighing her feet down anymore, either. 

The bluenette doesn't have time to come remotely close to banning any thoughts revolving around something other than basketball (there isn't enough time to stop wondering if her muscles hadn't disappeared too much during her months log break), before the orange basketball comes hurling towards her like a charging bull, thrown from a cornered Kawahara, and when she exhales it is slow and deliberate. 

Her mind is blank yet a spear's tip at the same time. 

She moves, back turning for the right amount of weight to put behind the pass, and when the palm of her hand meets the rough sphere in a decisive slap the force almost ripples through her fading muscles. The ball is sent away, and she watches it slice through the court to be caught by a startled Furihata who takes a moment to splutter before making an easy score. Whatever shard of hesitation had been digging into her heart before melts and doesn't even leave a puddle in its wake. 

The cobalt-eyed girl feels alive, awakening for every time she passes the basketball across the court. Kagami is quick to adjust, as well as her other teammates who follow suit like water filling cracks, and when the redhead charges and dunks with an impressive jump that reminds her of crackling fire, their eyes meet for a brief moment. It isn't until he lands back to the ground and her team cheers now that they have scored themselves into a win (38-36), that she realizes she's feeling like she did before her teammates had changed and broken Ogiwara. 

It feels good.

.

Takase doesn't _like_ vanilla milkshakes. She loves them. However, with the amount of different ones she has tasted, she has come to realize that her own standards for the milkshakes have risen exponentially. She even has a top-four places to buy vanilla shakes list, of which one is the small eco-bio-store a street down from the small Kuroko household, one is the third dessert on the menu of the cafe next to a lush park where she had used to go to with Kise if he'd promise to treat her, one is sold at a cute convenience store close to Teiko where Aomine had used to take her, and lastly the surprisingly good ones at Maji Burgers. That is why Maji Burgers tends to be her stop on days when she either had a rough day and needed moral support, especially good ones and felt like treating herself, or her cash simply allowed her to buy one. The bluenette muses she will soon loose count on how often she has gone there. 

Her reveries (incidentally about showing the Generation of Miracles that they aren't superior, unbeatable, unchallengeable, nor absolute) are broken when a tall, built young man sinks down into the seat at the other end of the small, round plastic table. If the impressive frame and deep red hair weren't a giveaway, the amount of food and haphazardly slung-on manner of wearing a uniform definitely sealed the deal. 

Kagami heaves a sigh, likely with relief to have found a good spot, and Takase watches with mild interest as he unwraps the first burger from the pile. Amusement as well as a metaphorical sigh glinted in blue pools when realizing he had no idea she was sitting right in front of him. She says; "Hello, Kagami-kun." 

Kagami chokes on his burger. 

Takase slurps on her vanilla milkshake. 

"The fuck-" He started, an american accent seeping in for a moment, and then coughs desperately when half-chewed food gets stuck in his throat. The bluenette idly ponders on whether she'd have a future as an assassin, with people not noticing her and getting such scares all the time. The redhead comes back to his senses after clearing his throat a final time and leveling her with a glare to cover how she'd frightened him. "Oi! You- you-" he splutters, and then bristles. "You _have_ to stop sneaking up on people!" 

"I've been here all along," she points out dryly, and thinks that her sentence might as well be her catchphrase. He gives her a long and suspicious look, carmine eyes narrowed and dark brows furrowed just a little bit to ooze an annoyed vibe. 

"Well, go away then," he concedes after a moment of squinting at her, taking a big bite of his burger. She is reminded of a squirrel, the way that his cheeks puffed out to allow bigger bites. 

"No," she tells him conversationally, sipping one last time before placing her papery cup onto the flimsy table. "I was here first. I like this place's vanilla shakes. If anybody should leave, it's you." 

" _What_ \- but I just bought all of this," he gestures towards the plastic tray loaded with neatly wrapped hamburgers. Takase doesn't blink, even if he's giving her a heated yet pleading stare telling her to leave. "If anybody sees us, they'll think we're a- _a_   _couple_." 

She's almost insulted how appalled he seems to be at the thought, but then hides a smile by picking up her vanilla-shake and worrying the straw between her teeth as she drinks slowly. There were many others in the world who would've let her sit there just because she had an hourglass figure and a bust rivaling Momoi's, but it seemed Kagami was not one of them. "And you think many would notice us?" There is a moment during which he peers at her over the edge of a burger, and then she adds with a deadpan blink; "This is my favorite hangout, I've come here almost every day." 

He takes another bite, the equivalent of a shrug, and as a peace offering he throws one of the wrapped hamburgers to her. She catches it with practices ease, the warmth seeping through the rustling paper wrappings and into her palms. "I don't like people who suck at basketball, but you've definitely earned yourself that one. It's on me, so don't worry about paying."

Takase parts from her milkshake, unwraps the food, but is unable to hide the smiling curve of her lips. It's small and subtle, but it graces her before she can stop it, welling forth like a spring lake. "Thank you." 

They don't talk much during what became a dinner; she bought another vanilla drink and he devoured his burgers as if they were nothing but popcorn. Outside the sky has darkened into a deep indigo with pink-rimmed tufts of clouds that are finally stopping their onslaught of downpour and allowing cracks of shaded sky to peek forth, the sun a deep orange and hidden behind the tall buildings whose windows reflect amber and vermillion, it's last rays caressing the urbanized lands before even the last rods would disappear. 

As they walk down the street, Kagami having finished long ago and Takase sipping on her milkshake as they go, the redhead stares contemplatively before him. She takes notice, but doesn't feel like asking. She'll know soon enough if he wants her to, the bluenette knows. She doesn't need to wait long, for with a final blink of dark lashes over scarlet eyes he vocalizes his thoughts; "The Generation of Miracles, just how strong are they? If I played them now, how would I do?" 

She spends a second thinking about it, and then mercilessly decides; "You'd be destroyed instantly." 

Kagami splutters indignantly, and lets out a rumbling huff. "You have such a way with words." 

"Thank you," Takase says, agreeing, with barely a twitch to her perpetually neutral expression. "Those five prodigies have all gone to play for their own high schools. One of them will stand at the top." 

She really shouldn't be surprised when the tiger throws his head back and a feral, bright grin spreads across his features, teeth on display and a determination carved into his caramel features. "That's perfect, exactly what lights the fire within! I've decided." Blazing eyes turn to her, and she looks back with a blank expression though there is a swath of light in her eyes. "I'll beat them all and become Japan's best player." 

She judges him to have no small amount of ambition and spirit. She throws him a sidelong glance, scrutinizing his stubborn visage from her peripheral vision. "I don't know if you've got some hidden talent or not, but as you are right now you wouldn't be able to reach their feet." 

Kagami almost loses the regularity of his gait when she tells him that, and is probably about to make another comment about her bluntness ("Oi-") when she continues;

"But I have also decided. I am a supporting actor, a shadow. But a shadow will become darker if the light is stronger and it will make the white of the light stand out. As the shadow of the main actor, I will make you, the light, the number one in Japan." Her resolve feels like steel inside, solid, and there is a flare of hopeful trust simmering deep inside.

Around them, the world continues in its usual city-pace. Cars speed by like racing insects, the stoplights turning into a vivid green, passersby dashing past or casually ambling forth without taking second notice of the two teens looking at each other as a promise echoes between them. The words wrap around, coil inside her head, but it feels free and exciting to go against her past teammates. She could get used to the stirring feeling, both calm and jittery. It feels nice. 

They part ways, but Takase still feels as if she's right next to him even when she walks down narrower streets towards the small apartment shared with her mother, father and grandmother. Blue eyes stare up at the dark sky. 


	3. Candlelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!!  
> I don't know what came over me in this chapter, but I thought getting my brain capabilities lowered only happened around real-life crushes, but.... hey, Kise was one of my favorite characters, okay??  
> (So I revised it to make sure it's not idiotic, okay?)  
> On an other note, I just realized that writing Hyuuga is hilarious. Or at least a joy to do. I might just rewatch some episodes since I didn't learn to appreciate him to the fullest until the middle of the series....

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Teiko, 2006

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Aomine scored his sixth point within less than a minute, cobalt eyes alight as he glanced at his bluenette friend who stared up at him as he let go of the hoop after his dunk. To her credit, Takase did not look jealous. She didn't even feel very envious, either, although she supposed she felt pouty about the ease basketball came to Aomine. 

"I've never seen you dunk that well," she admitted easily, picking up the ball as it lazily rolled towards her. He swelled like a balloon with pride. She found herself laughing at his good-naturedly smug grin, despite thinking that he was such _boy_. All males in her year were such boys, actually. Holding contests about who could run the fastest, jump the highest, burp the loudest. Huddling together like preteen schoolgirls as they started talking about why girls had suddenly started looking hot while before they had been knobby-kneed cootie-girls, not to mention ranking who was the most attractive or cool among themselves. The frost-haired girl would've found it endearing weren't it for their immaturity. Not all participated, of course; there was the studious group who kept their noses deep into their books, the rich Akashi Seijuurou who was too regal and mature for such antics, lazy duo of boys sleeping at the back of class and occasionally skipping, the prideful Midorima Shintarou, and a whole list of others who had better things to do. 

(And, as an observer, Takase knew that Aomine Daiki was the fastest, a track boy named Amemori the best jumper, a rotund boy whose name she had forgotten could burp the loudest, and the ridiculously good looking fellow -Zunon's new model, accepted a week ago, if Hayakawa Hana's and her friend's reciting and recounting were accurate- Kise Ryouta (who wasn't even _trying_ ) was attractive on a whole new level as well as the one who only needed to wink before he had a girl. (And the bluenette knew for a fact that Kise knew that, too.))

"Now you try," he flashed an encouraging smile, as genuinely believing as he had been before she had showed him her bumbling basketball skills. It was heartwarming, she supposed, but over their last three weeks of training together after school it had stopped being all about _learning_ basketball and become _playing basketball with a friend_. 

She dribbled the ball once, twice, thrice, caught and took aim, body moving almost on autopilot as she focused the brunt of her attention to the goal, thinking only about force behind the throw and the angle. She threw, watched the basketball's black lines blur together as the rotation spun.

It rebounded on the hoop, a result significantly better than usual. 

Aomine didn't hesitate to catch it with an agile jump and effortlessly threw it in with a flick of the wrist, as if he had been a center player. Flat blue eyes lingered on the developing muscle of his bronzed arms, and then quickly averted back to his face. She smiled, not disappointed at all but far from giving up; "How long have you been playing basketball?" 

"Since I was, like, uh..." He paused, eyes squinting as he racked his brain. "Small?" 

As she looked at the taller teen, Takase found it difficult to imagine he had been small at one point in his life. (Except for his smiles and grins, they were so young, so bright, all youth and cheerfulness.) "How small?" 

"Very small," he decided instantly, nodding to himself as if that was a clear and informative answer. She looked at him blankly. 

"You're a bit of an idiot sometimes, aren't you?" She asked, blunt, but not intending to be hurtful. She patted his shoulder in an ' _it's okay, everybody knows you're an idiot, but we'll get to that when you're ready_ ' manner. Aomine spluttered indignantly. 

"Wha- no, no I'm not-" he quickly started -instant denial method at it's finest- and trailed off sheepishly when she headed towards the spartan bench pushed against the wall where he had deposited his schoolbag. Pale fingers nimbly fished up the exceptionally rumpled piece of paper well on its way of falling out (she knew for a fact that it was quite often he couldn't be bothered to zip his bag shut). She held the test up and gave him a meaningful stare over the rim of the wrinkled paper as the results, circled in violent red, peered at him like accusing eyes (36%). He told her; "Maths isn't my strong suit."

Takase neatly placed it back into his bag between two books to straighten out the network of bumps, zipped it, and turned to him with a small smile he had learned meant roasting. "That's what you say about physics and chemistry as well." 

He sniffed, miffed, but predictably smiled a moment later when she threw him the ball back as a peace offering. "My others subjects make up for it. I'm passing." 

"Whatever floats your boat," she hummed as she got back onto the nearly empty court, ignoring his feeble protest that he really _was_ passing. "It's okay, I'm failing physics, too. History and geography make up for it." 

"What's your grade?" He inquired lazily as he scored a three-pointer. Even if he wasn't going all out at the moment, the unpredictable and free style of basketball still reminded her of a wild, untamable  cat. Catlike animal, at least. 

"Physics? Forty-three percent. For history I have a bit below ninety and for geography a but above. My other subject are in the seventies, except for maths which is sixty-five." 

"You know those by heart!?" he exclaimed, cue him almost missing the ball when intending to catch it on its second bounce. He seemed as amused as disbelieving when he blurted out; "Does that mean you calculate your average for all tests in a subject to know what you'll get in your report?" 

She shrugged, and glanced at him from between dark lashes as she opened the cage of more basketballs. "Not really. Hayakawa-san does it for me for fun. She's like that." 

"Hayakawa..." he repeated slowly, once again digging through his memories with a concentrated knitting of his dark blue brows. "The chick with the bushy black hair?" 

Takase gave him a flat stare over the ball she had been about to throw. "Yes, that's her. How is your own team going? Ready for the Interhigh?" 

He was more than happy to change topic, a panther veering into its territory, and he brightened like a LED. "Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, but guess what? I'm one of the starters!"

Ocean's eyes met the uncharacteristically expressive sapphires staring at him with a warmth seeping into her ghostly complexion. "For a first year that's good, isn't it? That's great." 

"Ha, thanks, I'm pretty proud myself." He had that boyish, smug expression again. Takase gave him a flat stare. 

"Your head's going to swell when your ego expands too much," she informed with another pat on his shoulder, comforting in another ' _you're an idiot but let's discuss that later_ ' way. Aomine spluttered again, and the frost-haired girl felt an odd, light and pleasant sensation bubbling to the surface. She snorted, pale pink lips stretching into a smile wider than what she was used to. 

The tanned boy scratched the back of his navy head, the movement as lazy as it was sheepish, and chuckled after recovering from the salvo. "You're gonna come and watch my matches, right?" 

She wanted to say yes, the urge burning in her veins with more longing and ferocity than ever experienced before, and it startled her. However, she had so much to do. School, her own practices, not to mention her family needing her. Her grandmother was growing old, fragile mother was pregnant and not eating enough, all the while her father was almost always gone for ill-payed accountancy work. 

Takase pressed another ball into his hands, fingers brushing feather-light against his. It felt soft despite the slight calluses on both hers and his pads. It was warm. "I'll try, for each and every one of them." 

.

.

Seirin, 2009

.

.

- _and with those words hovering in the air, weighing like lead and yet suspenseful as if they hung by elastics about to pull them back, the rosy pinks of her lips parted as his hot breath ghosted over them, a delighted shiver running down her spine with guilty anticipation, the strong arm around her slim waist tightening like a possessive snake_ -

Takase looks up from her book, sighing as she watches the commotion at the windows being subdued by the vexed biology teacher. Her words _We Will Be Best In Japan_ have been successfully scrawled all over the school yard, and with a smile she slips her book into her weathered messenger bag while Okumura starts handing out detentions to those refusing to un-plaster their faces. For a moment she meets Kagami's gaze, the fiery crimsons alight with amusement, and she finds herself flashing hint of a smile back. 

Lesson is quickly assumed again, with Okumura starting to threaten various students with extra homework as well, and there is the rustling of notes and scraping of pencils against papers while students force themselves to focus on their handouts about the chemical substances inside that regulate hormones, impulses and the likes.

After answering a question about insulin and diabetes there comes the one about testosterone, which abruptly makes her realize just how much of a teenage parody her past team could be at times. Not that she'd ever thought about it back then -when victory and fame had blended together and made the buffer zone between ethics and lack of morality a blurry fog that allowed too much leeway in too many ways- and the thought was instantly categorized into Never To Be Spoken, but it still lingered and made her muffle an amused snort. There had been Aomine 'look _boobs_ ' Daiki, Midorima 'I _am_ mature, in fact' Shintarou, Kise 'look at _me_ , only  _me_ ' Ryouta, Murasakibara 'can't be bothered, _tired_ ' Atsushi, and Akashi 'I'm _very_ important' Seijuurou. 

The thought is as funny as it was alarming (if they heard her now there'd be more than Kise's crocodile tears an Midorima's fixing of glasses to deal with). 

It makes her eyes crinkle with a smile tiptoe at the corners of her mouth as she poises herself back over her papers to write about oxytocin and thyroxin, mostly just copying what she had written in her notes without attempting to memorize the meanings yet. After answering a particularly confusing question about the liver, her concentration is broken by Kagami, who had claimed the seat in front of her and only realized who had been sitting behind him for the last week thirty minutes prior, leaned back and balanced the chair on two legs, elbow seeking stability on her table. His features are set into a shadow of a brash smile, and he says; "Do you think coach Aida will know it's you?"

Takase regards him for a moment, mindlessly drawing small circles on a corner of her page, and even though the corners of her lips don't even twitch upward, her eyes aren't completely dull when she replies; "I was the only one who didn't get to announce my goals, so yes." 

She can glimpse respect lurking within the ruby depths, just a swath tinted with the beginnings of friendship, and she's almost hesitant to cling onto it. Almost. 

.

There are heartbeats and squeaking shoes orchestrating all around, practice blooming and muscles warming up almost lazily. Hyuuga and Izuki are discussing a rival school's defense, tones casual, all the while passing with all the leisure in the world. Koganei and Mitobe work together with the three other first years, with the cat-boy explaining the basics behind Seirin's Run-And-Gun style. Meanwhile, Kagami checks the different balls to make sure none is slacker then the other because of a lack of air pumped, brows knit ever so slightly but eyes calm. 

Aida hasn't arrived yet. 

Takase figures that's why everything is so peaceful. 

So when Tsuchida bolts inside, slipping through the door like water and shutting it behind him with pants heaving his chest and sweat beading his forehead, it's natural that everybody stops and looks at him. "Coach Riko is skipping towards us!" 

Furihata blinks and looks like someone's thrown him in for a loop; "That's.... good?" 

Izuki laughs and shakes his head, as if someone just told him something ridiculous, and Hyuuga snorts -giving his vice captain a _no-puns_ look- while scoring a three-pointer with the finality of someone accepting a death sentence. "It means she had found us an impossible team to play against for a practice match." 

"And that's less good," Koganei fills in with a resigned smile, patting Furihata on the back. Tsuchida sinks down onto the bench, recovering from his unexpected sprint with a long sigh. 

"It's always better to play against stronger opponents to learn," Kagami insists after deciding that the basketballs are all acceptable, coming to join the clique. "You never improve if you only play against teams you know for a fact are worse." 

"As long as it doesn't break the morale, that is," Takase adds, and half of the people around her jump and choke. "I was here all along."

"I'm putting a bell on you one day!" Kagami swears with a gruff undertone to his voice, as if hiding how startled he is. Hyuuga's sharp smile had become fixed. 

"Point being, Coach Riko skipping is never good," says the captain, and elbows Izuki before he can open his mouth. She guesses that he must've felt a pun coming. 

And then the door swung open, a sunnily smiling Aida in the doorway, feet firmly planted on the floor and her clipboard tucked under one arm like an old lady might cherish her purse. "Hello everyone!" 

Practice resumes, if not very silently and warily, and Takase dribbles her ball around the cones without mistakes nor finesse. She wonders what school they'll be up against. The answer comes three passes to the wall later -all bouncing right back into her hands- when Aida hums long to a merry tone before blowing the whistle, the sound resonating through the air. "I have managed to get us practice match against Kaijou!" 

Hyuuga's smile becomes fixed once again, and Izuki glances up at the taller boy with a faint smile; "Against Kaijou, huh, Taichou?" 

Hyuuga does not appreciate the old Japanese word for captain, the bluenette deduces when the bespectacled leader whacks the back of Izuki's head. The Phantom then wonders why the name rang a bell; she had heard of the school before, since it was one with good reputations and a knack for sports, but- 

Ah- 

Aida continued; "The Generation of Miracles' Kise Ryouta goes there, so while they're always in the top eight in whatever tournament they sign on for, they're even more formidable this year." 

( _Honey eyes met her own, an eyebrow raised and she could understand why he having doubts about her abilities of mentoring him. Instead of asking what skills she was hiding, however, he stated; "She's a girl," a lethally charming smile was conjured- "Not that I mind." And Aomine spluttered with flashing eyes and Takase smiled tightly before proving that having boobs didn't matter when it came to her basketball-_ ) 

( _Takase glanced at the blond walking next to her and asked; "Don't you think Aomine-kun is a little distant lately?" Kise gave her a smile and shrugged; "He's not hogging Kurokocchi, so I guess." And Takase huffed; "Idiot."_ )

( _Golden tresses slipped between her fingers, a silky waterfall of sunshine, and she saw the nature of his smile change, a mere twitch, a larger hand suddenly resting against her own and the atmosphere turned heavy and warm_ -)

Takase feels curiosity for the Copy Cat, wonders how he could've changed, whether he had grown much or not, if he still ended his sentences with -ssu, if he'd still call her Kurokocchi. But there's nothing frantic about her thoughts, nothing nervous, and that relaxes whatever muscles had been tensing between her shoulder blades. She's neither excited nor alarmed, and that suits her the best. 

But she isn't completely impartial, either. 

It doesn't take more then an additional five minutes of practicing passing to Hyuuga and Izuki, who has made at least two offhanded puns about balls and gotten a fierce glare from his captain in return, before the punmaster in question makes a tactical retreat. Kagami ends up playing one-on-one against Izuki, while Tsuchida, Mitobe and Koganei are teaching the trio of newbies tricks when it comes to feints. Takase is reminded that her passes really were difficult to catch because of the sheer force behind them, but it turns out Hyuuga is the type to, once he sees a chance, hog the ball a bit even if it means catching a harsh pass. 

"To think those small arms of yours do that," he hummed after descending from a jump, hands sore from the pass he had recieved before scoring his three-pointer. She glances down at her upper arms, and supposes that they aren't as muscular as her teammates.

Now that the hoop is free, Kagami and Izuki go for their own duel. The move he pulls of is difficult, a dribble at full speed, a sudden turn around, and never once was the rhythm or the smile at the corner of his mouth broken. Then he dunked, muscles of his calves tensing the moment before. His jump was very high, she noticed absently, but focuses more on the calm, but warm and hopeful, feeling he brings out in her. She thinks a bit of Aomine, who despite being a jackass towards trend would always have a reserved spot in her heart. But Kagami is Kagami and nobody else, and that's good.

The first sign comes when the sound of squeals disrupts the entire team. At first it's distant, barely there, but it grows louder and stronger the closer it gets, like a wave rolling onto the shore, until the sounds of a crowd's shuffling footsteps can be heard as an echo through the hall leading to the gym. Then there is a ridiculous amount of girls streaming into the entrance at the other end of the gym, crowding snugly and all staring at a person right in their midst, where a head sticks out a fair bit above them. A tall person, with a mop of golden sunshine for hair a honey eyes, almost vulpine to the shape, framed by ridiculously long lashes that blink occasionally -and the fans gasp when it happens. Then he fires his smile, corners of his mouth stretching _just so_ into something confident, genuine and heartbreakingly charming. 

And suddenly Takase thinks that somebody out there must be laughing at her, because obviously Kise comes to visit practice the one time she forgets to bring her sports bra and wears a regular one instead. 

He laughs and turns an apologetic look to Hyuuga, one she recognizes all too well because it's the one he'd give Akashi if he got held up by fangirls; "Sorry, I'll be there in five, just let me finish signing these autographs! "

The bluenette remembers how Aomine once called him narcissistic, and while Kise is certainly not the classical egoist, she supposes that basking in attention the way he does isn't completely bashful, either. Her new captain's algae eyes are narrowed behind his glasses, and he mumbles to himself something about youngsters' insolence, but composes himself and looks at Kise the way Momoi would do when analyzing an opponent. Izuki's playful gaze had waned too, looking serious despite still having a deceptively easygoing air about him. 

Takase feels a rush of... _something_ for her team. (It's a team. The Generation of Miracles wasn't.) 

"That's one of the Generation of Miracles, that ikemen?" Kagami sounds doubtful, but not completely against the idea, sizing Kise up in a way that was more professional than Takase had ever been. Might have something to do with the fact that he probably doesn't find muscles distracting, or a particular jawline. 

"Yeah," she confirms, glancing at Aida who, much to Takase's chagrin, isn't phased by his pretty looks in the least, either. Although, she supposes that it makes sense since she's certain her coach and captain harbor feelings for each other. "Yes, Kise-kun is part of the Generation of Miracles." 

Her knuckles brush against Kagami's for a moment when they pass each other, some sort of vague reassurance, but she isn't sure who is backing up who. 

"Wait wait," Kawahara suddenly mumbles, and rummages through his bag, arms disappearing within the messy depths. "I think I've gotten a magazine with whole interviews about the Generation of Miracles somewhere." 

Takase spares Kise a last glance, is unsurprised when he chuckles at something girl says and soaks in the adoring faces it earns him, and turns her back to him and faces her team. He really _was_ an unintentional playboy. 

"And what on earth is he doing here?" Hyuuga finally spits, words of ice, and Izuki finally cracks an entertained smile. 

"Typical, isn't it, he's a model _and_ he's a genius at basketball," says the Point Guard with a snort, and Koganei whines an agreement, because apparently boys find that cruel. Mitobe pats his shoulder, the movement assuring and conveying more than words. As an observer she watches the interaction closely, something inside thawing at its gentle nature. 

"I want to know what he's doing here," the Shooting Guard repeated, crossing his long arms over his chest. Takase glances back at Kise, sees the blond grinning, and turns back without as much as a blink. Kagami looks annoyed that practice was disturbed, ruby eyes flashing and the muscles of his neck tightly corded, a basketball pressured between his caramel hands, but there is an intensity, a swath of passion and determination sneaking around his lips and in his eyes. 

"Do you think he gets all the girls?" Fukuda wonders out loud, and Tsuchida glances at the crowd once again, as if afraid he'll see his girlfriend among the awing and blushing fangirls. 

"I- want- to- know- why- he- is- here," Hyuuga grinds out one last time, his glasses flashing dangerously and his smile frozen and furious underneath the thinnest veil of politeness. His answer is received this time, even if in the form of Kise ushering away his fangirls with charming smiles and deadly winks. 

"I apologize for the inconvenience," the blond laughs a bit sheepishly, walking towards them. Takase figures that he must really like his uniform since unlike Teiko's, Kaijou's is a more formal-looking one with the cut of a suit. The silvery gray and white suited him, though then again, most clothes did. "I couldn't send them away just like that and hurt their feelings." 

"Don't worry about it," Hyuuga manages with a civil look on his face, one hand precariously close to Izuki as a warning against puns. "I just _really_ hadn't _expected_ _anybody_ , let alone _you_ , to come _here_ _today_." 

Kise reaches them, honey-golden eyes skimming over them like one might search for a book on a shelf in a library, and then fasten onto Takase with a gleam. She gives him a deluxe flat look. He doesn't let it deter him, flashing a goodnatured smile that makes his eyes crinkle innocently. She knows better. "I heard I would be playing Seirin next, and realized that was the school Kurokocchi went to, so I couldn't help myself! I wanted to visit the school Kurokocchi goes to." 

An arm is slung across her shoulder, and she's swept against him with a gesture of an almost amicable nature. Her nose is filled with the scent of expensive cologne, something vaguely mint or apple scented that might be his shampoo, and something muskier, manlier. She is quick to fire; "You still smell like a girl with all the products you use." 

"So mean!" He cries out with a bucket full of crocodile tears, but his arm tightens marginally around her shoulders and she can feel his fingers brush against the skin of her bicep, oh-so light and intentional.

Kawahara -bless him- distracts Kise by reading out loud from the article he's finally located, and his toned arm retracts. She glances at Kagami, the redhead in question still spinning the orange ball on one calloused finger, the ease of a ballerina with her pirouettes. His brows are tilted, focused. 

The boy with the shaved hair is oblivious; "-despite only starting basketball in his second year of middle school, his exceptional physical abilities and instincts got him a place as a regular on Teiko's team in a heartbeat. While he has less experience than the other four, he's a rapidly improving all-arounder."  

Kise laughs, clear and deep with the unassertiveness he had lacked earlier. "That's just a nice way of saying I was the worst of the bunch. They bullied me and Kurokocchi for it all the time."

Takase recognizes his words as something that has always bothered him, and still is, apparently. (" _This time I'll beat you, Aominecchi!_ ") There is only one thing that doesn't feel right, so she's swift the deadpan; "Only you, nobody ever said anything about me."

She's rewarded with another bout of crocodile tears. Kise has always been one of the more emotional males she knew, but his way of dealing with it, by joking about it and exaggerating, was, in the end, truly more endearing than the ones playing macho. "That's so mean!" 

And then there was a flash brightening his eyes into something more poised, and arm shooting up, and suddenly she finds herself with her face pressed into a crisp white shirt. ' _We must look like quite the pair_ ,' she thinks idly, hoping she's not blushing when memories rush. ' _Kise-kun in his pristine uniform and me in baggy gym clothes._ '

Her former teammate catches the basketball that had sped towards them. His expression morphs into one of almost childish hurt and confusion, "Ow! What was that for?" 

"Baka Kagami!" Aida barks with a huff, a lioness with her fur rubbed the wrong way, her cinnamon eyes narrowing. Takase tries to catch Kagami's gaze, but the reprimanded redhead in question only sees Kise and the basketball in the blond's hands. She takes a step away from him in her new light's general direction. 

"I'm sorry to disappoint your little reunion," he starts, not sorry in the least and his faint grin crooked. He then gives the model's worn gym shoes, which evidently are not part of his uniform, a pointed look. "But don't tell me you came all the way here just to greet us. Why don't you play for a bit, ikemen?" 

Kaijou _is_  rather far away, she supposes, but is then reminded of the old, original and happy Aomine when looking at the slightest hints of teeth in Kagami's grin. She, unnoticed, slips back to the cluster of people she has come to identify as her team over the past few days. 

"What?" Kise looks as doubtful as he had done two years ago when hearing she'd be his mentor, playing his Generation-of-Miracles-high-and-mighty card with a ' _Naaaani_ ' worthy of Murasakibara. "I don't know if I'm ready..." Though his grip on the basketball still tightened. "But if I just..." 

She could see it seep into his eyes, his body, an innocent-but-not-quite grin twisting his lips into a macabre version of the happy smile it had once been. His eyes stood purposeful and positive, but she could see the ice Shigehiro had spoken about, a shell of haughty confidence distancing him. Then she turns the brunt of her attention to Kagami, who has eyes reminiscent of a crimson, crackling fire. There is a raw life force about him that feels wild, untamable and _warm_. 

"I have to thank you for your display," the model accepts the challenge and passes back the basketball, before slipping out of his silvery jacket and rolling up his sleeves. Takase quite likes forearms in general when it comes to the male anatomy, especially in anything like rolled up sleeves, but she doubts Kise knows. Still, her thoughts had been odd all day and this certainly doesn't help her brain that seems to be shutting down entire sections at the time. 

She blinks, pinches her thigh through the material of her dark shorts, and heads to Aida. "This could be bad," she informs her once a safe distance away from her team as well as Kagami's and Kise's forearms. "He learns a movement as soon as he sees it, and often improves it along the way." 

As if to prove her point, Kise used the same technique Kagami had just used against him, changing direction from full speed to twist around the redhead and dunk with more power than Kagami could stop. She watches as he falls back to the floor, an uncharacteristic display of clumsiness that doesn't sit well with her, and next to her, Aida understands. 

"So that's the Generation of Miracles... Kuroko-san, your friend's way too good," breathes Kawahara with wide eyes, all awe and intimidated apprehension, and it takes Takase a moment to register that the way he had hesitated at the word friend is very suspicious. 

She almost huffs. Kise has always been too affectionate.

"I don't know that person," she says after a moment, dull sapphires of her eyes blunt, and she means it in almost every sense possible. "To be honest, I may have underestimated him until now. It's only been a few months since I left the Generation of Miracles, but clearly they've improved at a pace more rapid than I expected."

Staring down at a shellshocked Kagami with an almost-pout on his face but vain pride in his eyes, as if the outcome was disappointingly easy but the win all together a given, Kise scratches the back of his head; " I don't know about this..." 

Aida murmurs, just loud enough for her bluenette player to hear; "That's a perfect copy, and improved to suit himself."'

The more voluptuous out of the two is unapologetic but equally subdued when replying; "That's Kise-kun's talent." 

"After something so disappointing I can't leave just like that," the blond model in question straightens and regains maturity, or at least confident determination in his stance and a spark ignited in his golden-brown eyes. He turns on his heel and walks towards them, his smile pleasant but off, bangs dancing in front of his gleaming eyes. "Give us Kurokocchi." 

He stops in front of her, and despite only reaching his chest and him towering over her, she doesn't feel small. He hold his hand out, head tilted, smile with just hints of teeth and eyes lidded, as if extra degrees of charm would do the trick. "Come to Kaijou, I'll get you a place on the team. Let's play basketball together again." His smile was s little too sharp and facial features, more defined than last December, set into something lacking the lightheartedness he had possessed years ago. "I really respect you. It's a waste of your talents to stay here."

"Kise-kun..." she finds herself saying, quiet and bland, expression still vacuumed and dull, but his lips still stretch just a brush further. Yet, it's still Kise, even if his eyes are drawling and his smile closer to a smirk and his aura predatory. (She can still save him, thaw the ice, make him smile without anything supercilious again.) Still the fact remained that his words are wrong and selfish to her ears, a desire to keep her close disguised behind flattering words; she's aware of that, but when she looks at almost-pitying Kise, she can't say for sure he is. 

"What do you say?" His voice is pushy, his personality has always generally been. 

"I'm honored you think that and would go through the trouble of getting me into yours school, but I must decline," she says, unable to keep a smile from her face while she executes a perfect, apologetic bow.

"That doesn't make any sense!" He protests instantly, and she can hear that he really _is_ unable to comprehend how she's turning him away. "Winning is everything, it's always been! Why don't you go somewhere better?" 

 _Why won't you go with me?_ He didn't say it out loud, but she could still hear it loud and clear in her head.

( _She parted from the straw of her vanilla shake and she fastened a long, contemplative stare onto Kagami. His expression was serious and collected, but his body language still interested and curious if the angle of his shoulders and lack of unwrapped burgers were anything to go by. She finally told him, deep blue eyes meeting his ruby pools shining from between dark carmine bangs; "Winning was everything and we always came out victorious, but despite the fact that all the others were content with that, I felt we lacked something. We grew apart, grew cold and almost hostile, and relying on teamwork was suddenly seen as weakness. We achieved gold, but we were no team." Kagami looked at her, still relaxed, and cocked his head to the side, a light in his eyes; "So you're planning on beating the Generation of Miracles." And he snorted, but his eyes were burning-_ ) 

"I've changed and more importantly, I've made a promise to Kagami, to beat you, and the Generation of Miracles," she tells him bluntly, tilting her head to be able to meet his honey eyes.

( _Akashi glanced at the newcomer, an energetic looking blond with a merry smile; "This is Kise Ryouta. Kuroko-san, I'd like you to mentor him."_ )

( _A breath ghosted against the flushed skin of her cheek, and the smell of expensive cologne, citrus shampoo and sweat filled her nostrils, and she frowned; "Kise-kun, no-" you've changed, she wanted to add, but nothing-_ )

( _She saw disbelief mingling with something more stubborn and raw, and gave Kagami a last look, more earnest than her previous deadpan ones; "Your words, and the coach's, really struck me. Now my reason to play is to make Seirin, and consequently you, the best in Japan." And the redhead's grin was but a small curl of his lips, but it shone and it was almost feral in the best of ways-_ )

"It really isn't like you to joke around like that," he says, eyebrows drawing together and looking as confused as startled. 

"I'm not joking, my humor is as bad as it's always been," she assures him without regrets. She feels the warmth of Kagami's skin radiating when he comes to stand next to her, resolve straightening his spine. "Although, Kise-kun, if you'd please stop talking down on my team like that? It's quite arrogant."

"Ha," Kagami snorts, but she isn't certain if it's at the blond's lost visage or her own words. His eyes are alive and dancing, so far from broken and defeated as they can get, and his soul seems to thrum with the prospect of going head to head against Kise again. It makes her feel like a balloon is swelling inside. 

Victory must've run deeper than she first thought, because she has no intentions of ever losing.


End file.
